


Reverie

by Drelin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, DFAB reader, F/F, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drelin/pseuds/Drelin
Summary: You have done your fair share of dirty jobs; now, with Overwatch disbanded and your future insecure, you find yourself searching for well-paying careers for the sake of an early retirement. Or death. Either works. You're opinionated, but also docile and agreeable. What else did people want? Of course, things never go according to plan: a certain purple-haired hacker decides that maybe, just maybe, you're better off working for her. Needless to say, it'll be either the greatest decision you've ever made...or the one that finally gets you killed.





	1. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift fic for scuzer over on tumblr. 
> 
> Sombra doesn't show up much this chapter, but you'll be getting a lot of her soon enough. So if you want, you can skip this chapter; the next one to be posted will not reference too much from the prologue.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

She finds beauty in the smallest of things, you think, watching her hands cup stray cusps of dust filtering through the hot, stifling air. A breeze carrying the heady scent of feces washes across your face, and you wrinkle your nose in obvious distaste, pinching your nostrils shut in a feeble attempt to turn away the foul smell.

Satya turns and sees your despairing expression. There are little bits of dirt still stuck to her open palm, and her smile only widens upon meeting your eyes. Forget the tiny, indescribable details of the world -  _ she  _ is beautiful, and your breath catches in your throat at the mere thought of saying so to her face.

You are no coward. There are simply things better left unsaid - a lesson you’ve repeatedly learned over the years.

Vishkar, for example, is racist, disgusting, underhanded, fascist, controlling, abusive, and more. You need not list their crimes to know the truth behind false smiles and temporary handshakes, to see through the quiet facade to the curling menace underneath.

But does Satya know? Oh, she questions, for sure - Satya questions everything. She questions the dimples at the corners of your mouth, the little quirk of your tongue when you’re concentrating, the sharp lift of your eyebrows at the mention of Overwatch or Talon. You try not to think of yourself as a book, but she’s tried to devour every page of you ever since you’d met two years ago.

You remember the way she had cocked her head slightly, warm brown eyes growing cold upon seeing your tense stature, the uneven slope of your lips, ready to bare your fangs. Old habits die hard; revenge flows through your veins like a lifeline, steadily pumping in and out your beating heart in a desperate attempt at escape. It is retribution, not revolution, not redemption, that you desire, and you are willing to wade through the harrowing pits of death to achieve it.

Satya ruminates over a limp flower, fingering the dull white petals with her prosthetic arm. You always continue to mull over your choices, but the past is the past. Let bygones be bygones, Captain Amari had quoted after a particularly grueling session with Strike-Commander Morrison. Learn from the day.

You clear your throat. “We should hurry,” you say, but your voice betrays your true intentions. Satya laughs, low and sweet, and rises. She places the flower in your hair, marveling at the sight.

You flush red. She does a little half-shrug, and you put your face in your hands. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she chides, and you copy her tiny shrug with as much contempt as you can with your face still in your hands.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to work with you,” you murmur, and Satya hums in agreement. Has she always been like this, so happy and free? You do not remember, cannot remember. She had always been somewhat of an enigma. 

“I, too, am glad.” her words come out stiff, not like herself, but she means it. God, you’re going to miss her. 

“I’m going to get my stuff. Flight’s in a few hours.”

Satya’s eyes gleam in the failing light. Was it sunset already? “Keep in contact.” she pauses, and you swear you see her breath hitch. “Please.” She reaches out a gentle hand and squeezes your own, uncurling them from your face. It’s the closest thing to a hug you’ve ever gotten from her, and you can’t help but grin.

“I will. See you, Symmetra.”

She blinks blearily. You smell honey and cinnamon on her tears. “And you as well. Good-bye.”

It’s a forlorn farewell. An unsaid  _ will I see you again?  _ on closed lips.

The curtains draw to a close, and you never see Satya Vaswani again.

-

You lied.

It’s been, what, three years since that day?

And now she’s...she’s  _ here _ , in front of you, weapons out and face contorted in furious, indignant, righteous rage - oh,  _ shit _ , she’s looking at  _ you  _ -

You did not sign up for this. You can’t even take the damn mask off! Who designs masks like this? It’s barely a helmet! You’re going to die because of some dumbass engineer who can’t design uniforms for shit.

Satya might be slightly appalled at the fact you’ve developed a bit of a potty mouth, but hell, she’s going to kill you, so might as well go out with a bang, right?

Two words, one company: Volskaya Industries. After leaving Vishkar for greener fields, you chanced upon a nice job in the Russian company and settled in quickly and quietly. No more fieldwork for you, you’d thought, all cooped up in a comfortable office someplace off the United States’ east coast. No more drama and all the ladies and gentlemen and those in between at your disposal.  _ You were going to get a date. _

Performing well was supposed to land you raises, not...unreasonable requests. Demands, really, from the higher ups. You’d hidden your past history for a reason, and you did not appreciate how much dirt Vishkar managed to dig up. They must’ve brought it to Volskaya...fucking...damn, the old burning heat of vengeance wells up in your gut and you have to push it down to face Satya.

You remember. It comes up in a heated flash of indignation. Started seven weeks ago. The CEO herself stares at you, all hunched up and miniscule compared to the hulking size of Aleksandra Zaryanova. You raise a timid hand in greeting, faking a smile, but the woman doesn’t smile back. Expected, but hey, you tried.

She talks to Zaryanova first. You don’t catch much of their conversation, but considering the way Zaryanova’s expression goes from pleased to undeniably pissy in the span of a few seconds, you’re going to get an even  _ worse  _ assignment. If it makes the big, bad, buff pink lady mad, it’s going to drive you up the wall.

Zaryanova leaves. She looks at you once before she exits, clapping on firm hand on your shoulder in a sign of complete solidarity. All right, the clap says, your turn, time to get fucked in the ass for the upteenth time.

Volskaya gestured for you to sit, so you do, all priss proper like in the old movies. “Time is of essence,” she says. You gulp inaudibly. Whenever Reyes started with something like that, you got the short end of the stick mucking up cold corpses in some back alley. She continues, either not hearing your obvious displeasure or ignoring it entirely. You’re not sure which would piss you off more. “I’ve been informed of your...skills. And, though it pains me to say it…” her eyes turn to a set of photos on her desk.

Children. It’s her daughter she’s looking at. That hardened expression softens at the sight of the laughing child, as if melted straight off by some unseen force. Yeah, that’s what love does to you, alright, you know, yadda yadda, get to the point.

Hey, Internal Monologue™, you think. Tone down a bit, please and thank you. You’re depressed enough as it is.

She turns back to you, ice queen returned. “We are in dire need of them. I know this is a sudden request, and you wish to keep out of the public eye...but as an employee of Volskaya Industries - no, as a world citizen, I ask you to help me keep this country safe.”

Uh-huh. Not the first time you’ve heard that bullshit. Hello, Morrison! When did you come back from the dead to start spewing your patriotic humdrum all over my carpet floor? I just cleaned off all your indoctrinated puke!

You nod once. You don’t trust yourself enough to talk yet. 

Volskaya seems relieved. “Thank you for understanding.” she hands you a small slip of paper, tiny, printed writing scrawled neatly over the pale lines.

You squint to read the writing. You realize this is no printed copy - Volskaya herself wrote it out for you. You commend her for the perfect penmanship, at least.

Your stomach sinks as you read, and you fold the paper into four halves before slipping it into your pockets.

“Do you understand, then?”

“Yeah,” your voice is raspy, unused, and mildly terrified. “I get it. Got it.”

Infiltrate Talon.

Not an easy first step...and that wasn’t even all of it.

You really fucked up. Big time.

-

Your head clears just as Satya fires a blast of semi-hardlight energy out of her photon projector. Dodging to the side, you run past the ball of energy and leap over a metal fence, ignoring the screams of the locals around you. Alarm bells go off in your head as Satya turns to face you again, her eyes blazing glorious, red-hot fury.

A crash from behind you signals a retreat. You whip around only to see three of your supposed comrades get obliterated by the swing of a huge hammer as tall as yourself. Reinhardt was here, oh god, and there was Tracer and -

Was that Fareeha?

Your AI friend peeps up inside your helmet. 

CONFIRMED TARGETS: SATYA VASWANI, WILHELM REINHARDT, LENA OXTON, FAREEHA AMARI.

Mmmm, just great. You can almost smell your own death. Ana Amari was going to choke you out in the afterlife for even thinking about shooting her daughter, even if it wasn’t to kill.

You charge forward. Reinhardt reacts first, reaching his hammer out to smack you upright. You’re nimble enough to pounce to the side toward Lena, who pops out of timespace to thwack you over the head with one of her pistols, but you grab her arm and - well, she’s gone. Timey-wimey shit is  _ unfair _ . 

Meanwhile, Fareeha Amari, codename Pharah, tackles you from behind. She can’t use her missiles in a tight-knit civilian area (thank god, you’re definitely converting to a religion if you survive this), but she sure as hell can pack a punch. Several, in fact. Your bruised ribs crack underneath the weight of her armored fists, and you barely push her off with the help of a few other Talon members. They fire bullets into her Raptora suit and she escapes with a flourish of her jetpack systems. 

Infantry like you are meant to die. You’re the leader of this ragtag squadron, and they  _ know _ . Overwatch isn’t dumb. They go after the alpha, head of the pack, first.

You wonder why you accepted the position in the first place. Too late to regret it, anyways.

Licking your lips, you feel hot sweat trickle down your cheeks. “We’re retreating. Fuck this, I want to live long enough to retire.”

A young woman in your squadron responds to the communicator call. “You won’t have enough in your damn savings to retire if we come back like this.”

“Rather alive than dead, cadet. Won’t be able to act like hot shit if you’re a smoldering corpse on the ground.”

“That is the equivalent of ‘hot shit’. Literally.”

You sigh. Your sides hurt like hell, like liquid fire. Who knew it would be Fareeha that’d pummel you into a bloody pulp? You thought it’d end up being either McCree or Morrison. “We. Are. Retreating. Bye, I’m out. Take the windows by second base, the little fire trail Tracer left when she came in. Then get out. Call Reaper while you’re at it.”

The woman splutters. “ _ Reaper?  _ He’s not gonna respond.”

You grit your teeth. “Tell him that he’s going to get all of us killed, including the teenagers, if he doesn’t show up and shoot up the place.” Bad choice of words, good meaning.

That does the trick. You hear the cadet make a hurried call from the other end of the line, and it connects.

Police are already swarming outside. Fine. The kids need to get out. You know there’s so much corruption everywhere - it’s seeped into the skin of children all around the world, tugging them into an overflowing abyss of underground filth, the only way for so many to survive - and you hate it. You detest it all, but you revel in it. The irony hits you like a bag of bricks.

Blackwatch will haunt you until you draw your final breath. It will follow you into the deepest, darkest, dampest corners of existence, and you feel your sins crawling up your spine.

You see a wheezing recruit a few yards away, hiding behind the destroyed remnants of an office desk. They’re young, or maybe around your age - you’re not sure. Half their helmet has been blown off to reveal brownish strands of hair caked in blood. 

Ah. There it is: the guttural embrace of an uneasy death. Half their face has practically been torn away by bullets or explosions. You vaguely recall a classic book from the late twentieth century, something about wars being like glaciers.  _ Might as well be anti-glacier if you’re gonna be anti-war. It’s always gonna be there. _

So it goes.

“Hey. Are you awake?” There’s a lull in the fighting as you lean forward, taking the kid’s hand in your own. They’re barely breathing, wheezing out puffs of useless air that does not reach their lungs.

The Swiss HQ was like this, too, surrounded by dying bodies sucking in tepid breaths. You speak quickly and smoothly, holding a hand to her feeble heart. “Easy, now. It’ll be quiet soon. Over in a flash. Maybe you’ll get to meet Einstein. Maybe you’ll get to sock your pa’s murderer in the face. You can do that, you know. Go easy, I’ll take care of you.”

The girl’s remaining eye flickers toward you. She rattles one last breath, the trepidation before the end, and goes limp.

You wish someone was by Ana’s side when she died, too, but let bygones be bygones.

Too late to regret, anyways. You leave the recruit’s body and make a break for freedom: the sounds of gunfire ricochets around you, the police having arrived on scene, but you’re deaf to it all. You’re so, so tired.

But no. You know what happens when you sleep. 

There was a reason you didn’t die at HQ.

Overwatch is still not officially sanctioned, but the police force doesn’t seem to care. Talon soldiers (fodder) fall to the ground, gurgling blissfully, and most die in the firefight. Reinhardt looks godly in the limelight, his roars echoing around the airport, charging against an onslaught of rapid assault.

You clutch your chest. The miniature chemical chamber that was entrusted to you is still there. God, you’re working for a bunch of terrorists, but there were so many children there, too.

They’re still after you. You hear their cries from across the smoldering wreckage. Tracer’s peppy voice is distinguishable among the rabble. “Hey! There they are! Go, go!”

Reinhardt responds heartily, the feedback of his hammerstrike reaching your ears. “We cannot allow them to reach the middle sector! Lena, hurry!”

Beliefs intersect. Volskaya asked you one thing; Talon begged the other. You’re not too sure where your loyalties lie anymore. The receiver in your chest beeps like a heartbeat.

Tracer appears before you in a bright flash of blue, guns at ready. She fires in quick succession, and you feel the wind knocked out of you at impact. The armor you wear is strong, stronger than most, but it dents and bends underneath the rain of pulsefire.

You barely manage to sprint at her before she blinks away, continuing her attack on your sides. The AI in your helmet blips in warning, your shields dangerously low.

Fareeha materializes behind you. You know this because a missile explodes only feet away, engulfing you in scorching heat and pain. You flinch away, your rifle trembling in your hands, and you take a few steps forward.

You must look odd, walking away from wounds that should kill. It isn’t the first time.

You’re so useless. You hate it when it comes to the end: entrusted with everything, given nothing in return. What did they expect from you?

Reinhardt hovers above your blurring vision, eyes watering. Your helmet is still on, funnily enough. Satya comes up beside him, and you see her hardlight turrets secured around the general vicinity, all trained on you.

Tracer - Lena - steps in front of you. She’s cautious. “Hey,” she says. “Are they gonna blow or are we safe?”

“Winston did not say what they were carrying.” Fareeha’s face is hidden underneath her Raptora helm, resembling a blueish hawk with golden tints.

Satya looks at you, hard. “I have a feeling,” she says, slowly, terribly, and you’ve never seen her so disappointed.

The turrets take aim. You’re blissfully unaware of anything else other than the tender moments before you close your eyes, finally.

A grunt. You open your eyes to see Reinhardt throwing up his shield, the turrets shooting lasers at the group surrounding you. Lena dodges, temporarily blipping out existence, and Satya ducks behind Reinhardt’s shield. Fareeha, on the other hand, soars in the sky, aiming to avoid the brunt of the turret assault - they seemed more focused on Reinhardt at the moment.

You blink.

Three turrets turn from Reinhardt and aim for Fareeha’s boosters. She lets out a startled sound of confusion before she’s falling out of the sky -  _ even turrets aren’t supposed to have that precise aim  _ \- and Lena rams into her to soften her fall. It’s a mess, uncoordinated, and you understand why Overwatch is still floundering in its infant stage.

The heroes aren’t yet connected. So it goes. Old and new don’t always mix well at first.

Shotguns sound behind you, and Reinhardt whirls around the block the new foe. Reaper sighs, an owlish gesture, and takes one of your arms in his own. “Widowmaker,” he grunts. Sniper support pins the group down, and the turrets begin aiming at individual targets.

“We’re retreating,” Reaper tells you, and you nod through your muddled haze of consciousness. He ghosts, appearing yards away, and you barely register that your supposed to be running - but your body responds. Or the armor does, anyway, and it moves your legs by itself, dashing from the scene and following Reaper out of the compound.

Widowmaker watches you through her scope as you pick your way through the destroyed site, waiting patiently by the helicopter. Reaper leaps on first, followed by the sniper, and you jump. One leg twists before you do, and you feel yourself falling.

Something catches you. A neon-purple arm. It’s quite pretty.

They drag you into the helicopter, which is already revving its engines to make a getaway. Somehow, you’re not surprised: was this all a ruse to pick the best of the bunch? Overwatch did the same. Blackwatch did the same.

“They need medical attention,” Reaper mutters. 

The woman in front of you - the one in neon purple, blue, and a stylish overcoat that could probably pay for your entire retirement fund - laughs. “You’re a cute one, aren’t you…” she trails off when she notices you nodding off, eyelids far too heavy for your liking.

She gently taps the nose of your helmet. “Well. Hopefully we’ll be seeing each other again - you were fun to play with.”

“You could always ask.” Widowmaker says, cleaning her sniper rifle. She doesn’t even glance in your direction. “Talon would gladly give you a useless soldier to toy with for your experiments.”

“Sombra.” Reaper turns, half-growling, half-amused. 

“I know, I know. But it was interesting!” Sombra whirls around in her seat, leaving you alone to your thoughts. “They have such a nice body.”

Reaper sighs. Widowmaker makes no response other than the repetitive squeak of her rifle cleaning.

You know you cannot last any longer. Your consciousness is slipping faster than Morrison’s pants when Reyes was around. The last thing you remember is the gleam of lavender eyes against a backdrop of black, like a cat stalking its prey.


	2. keep on walking, soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while, but here is the next chapter with a little more Sombra!
> 
> I've taken a few liberties with unreleased characters, and there will be a few original characters to add spice to Reader's history.
> 
> Also note that I have changed the reader to be DFAB, and will people will refer to you as 'she'. If that is not the appropriate term, please tell me! I will set the relationship status back to 'multi' once more ships are introduced.

What happens in a story without a resolution?

The gentle fall and rise of the woman’s chest is the only thing reminding Sombra that the little soldier still lived. Reaper insists she will wake within the day, and Sombra decides to trust in his judgement. 

After all, it is rare that he is ever wrong.

A few yards away, the door opens. In appears the doctor, weary of mind, their face a perfect mask of poetic deception. Ah, Sombra thinks - here is a woman who would lie her way out of the next life. Here is the woman who once collapsed on their doorstep, blood leaking from spindly legs, the chopped moan of death echoing through a dry throat.

The doctor raises a tired eyebrow, and Sombra can almost see the outline of a lost smile beneath their surgical facemask. “Still here?” she asks, and plops down in a seat next to her.

Sombra nods once, and the doctor turns to her with a sigh. “Trust me on this, will you?”

_ No, _ Sombra wants to say, but keeps her silence.

The doctor laughs. It is gentle, and so very unlike her, so much that Sombra feels her own fist tighten without volition. 

“I wouldn’t worry about her,” the doctor says, inclining her head toward the sleeping soldier. “She’s going to be just fine.”

“Is that so,” Sombra says, loftily, like she doesn’t care. She does, though, and that’s what pisses her off - that inside, there’s still this miniscule ball of pity for the wounded. That no matter how far or long she runs, human nature cannot be changed.

The doctor’s smile is different, today, and Sombra cannot exactly place it. The woman leans over to inspect the soldier’s resting face, trailing a finger down a clean cheek with cheerful abandon. “I’ll leave you to your day, then. Make sure you finish screening her records, okay?”

“Oh, I will.” Sombra agrees with her on that, at least. “She’s definitely safe, from what I’ve gathered. Led an interesting life, too, but haven’t we all?”

The doctor laughs and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “That’s true. Take care of yourself,” she says, like she isn’t fifty years old and clearly suicidal and so, so angry at Gabe.

Sombra leans back into her chair as the doctor leaves. She opens another digital window and pans through the meager information, the purple glow of her eyes reflected in the descending darkness.

-

Liao hands you a cup of coffee, placing another on the table for Captain Amari to take once she finished her morning routines. You know it is a dream because Liao is smiling, unscarred and cheerful, hands smooth and gentle in their movements.

You watch Liao for a little longer because that is all you can do. Your limbs do not respond to your thoughts, though it may be for the best; you want to see Liao again, so, so desperately. If you moved, the dream would probably end, and where would that leave you? Cold and alone.

Captain Amari descends the staircase a minute later, rolling her eyes upon seeing Liao’s grinning face staring up at her. She plops down next to your mentor and cups the coffee in her hands, relishing the drab sparks of warmth emanating from the demitasse. 

“Is your sister awake yet?” Captain Amari asks, breaking the comfortable silence. Liao laughs, far brighter than you remember. 

“No, I don’t think so. Tianfeng has always been a heavy sleeper.” Liao takes another small sip from their own cup, brown eyes closed.

You open your mouth and shut it after a moment’s consideration. The coffee in your hands swirls invitingly, and you feel your mouth water at the thought of tasting Liao’s signature drink once more. You haven’t had it in years.

“...Which reminds me,” Liao says, and you blink as they turn to look you straight in the eyes. An uncharitable cold creeps up your neck, and you bend over to rub at it, closing your eyes to push away the remnants of survivor’s guilt building in your stomach.

By the time you open them again, Liao is still sitting before you - but Captain Amari is long gone. Or was she ever there at all? Questions, questions - ones you will never have the answer to, like so many others.

Liao has the eyes of the dead. It is like looking into a mirror, and you almost laugh at the sight of it. 

“Which reminds me,” Liao repeats, a little more firmly compared to last time. That catches your attention. “Have you seen Mei recently?”

The name triggers something in your head. It  _ hurts.  _ “Mei-ling Zhou?”

“My niece,” Liao agrees, and that something in your head jerks unsteadily, furiously, burrowing through a myriad of locked memories to dig up a round face and unfathomably kind eyes stuck in blocks of ice.

“Uh,” you say. Yes? No? What was the right answer?

“I have all the time in the world,” Liao continues, resting a palm on their holster. When did they get a gun? You’re starting to hyperventilate. Or you think you are. Exactly what are you thinking, anyways, Liao wouldn’t  _ shoot  _ you. “...You could always ask Tianfeng,” they nod rhythmically to some unseen beat. It reminds you of Swiss HQ’s swinging pendulum by the north end cafeteria.

You’d always eat there whenever McCree showed up. Not that you didn’t like him, but Reyes was always hanging around somewhere in the background and he certainly wouldn’t approve of his (adopted? You were never sure) son associating with, well,  _ you. _

Then again, you never really knew why. What was it again? The thing that made you so incorrigible to half of Overwatch. You should ask.

“I haven’t seen her,” you say, not sure which question you are answering but feeling the need to say something anyways.

“Tianfeng? She should be right next to you,” Liao says, surprised. The look on Liao’s face throws you off. “Isn’t that what we promised? Without me, at least, there will be something left for you. Isn’t that right?”

Something, you recall. Liao always had a weird habit of referring to their sister as a thing. Or was it Strike-Commander Morrison? They never got along swimmingly. It sort of reminded you of...of…

“Don’t think so hard.” Liao puts a hand on your shoulder. “This sort of thing takes time. We’ll see each other soon.”

“Isn’t that right,” you murmur.

Liao’s eyes flicker with wet emotion. They look so sad. 

“So it goes,” they say.

-

“So it goes,” the doctor says, and Sombra jerks out of her restless sleep in the chair besides your bed. You blink the grogginess out of your eyes, feeling the gaze of the doctor and enigmatic neon woman boring into your skin.

You try to say something, but all that comes out of your mouth is a raspy hello. The doctor nods encouragingly from behind their facemask, but the neon woman’s face never changes from the silly, slightly intimidating smirk.

“Good evening,” the doctor says.

Silence. Then, without warning, an almost sultry, joking voice. “Get to it, Liao. I want her ready for the next operation in two days’ time,” the neon-purple woman sighs, putting a finger to her forehead. “And I mean it this time! No playing around, or I’ll stick it to you. Yes?”

The doctor -  _ Liao  _ \- sighs bodily. That is all the response they give the neon woman before she give them her signature sly smile and promptly walks out the open door. Liao turns back to you with an apologetic look. “That’s Sombra,” she says, shrugging, and closes the door gently after the other woman.

“I gotta say,” you say, throat still throbbing uncomfortably, “her name doesn’t fit her outfit.”

Liao - no, you think, this is not the same Liao you know, it  _ cannot  _ be, you cannot accept that - blinks owlishly behind her spectacles. “It’s very loud, isn’t it? Reaper made it for her.” she sounds endlessly amused by that fact. “He’s incredibly skilled at that type of thing. I, for one, find it horribly boring, but that’s beside the point.”

“Different strokes for different folks,” you find yourself agreeing. Normally, you’d be wanting to punch this woman in the throat and get the hell out of here, but the drugs in your system have made you far more docile and easygoing than usual. God, you hate these sort of doctors and their smug I’m-dedicated-to-my-patient’s-wellbeing facade. Instead, you start with basic inquiries fit for a drugged former Blackwatch agent. “Uh, where am I?”

“Talon outpost,” is all Liao says, busying herself with an array of needles by your bedside. You wince when she pokes one extremely large one into your right arm, but it doesn’t hurt. Both of you watch the blood pump from the needle into three packages attached to the needle’s end. “Checking cholesterol levels,” she says quietly. “We don’t have access to your medical record yet, since Sombra’s busy preparing for the next mission, so this will have to do...quick work, really, since you’re currently my only patient.”

You nod, as agreeable as ever, absorbing the information. Huh. Seems nicer than you thought. Certainly not as good as working with Dr. Ziegler, but good nonetheless. Your vision is too foggy to really tell anything apart. “I, what happened to…”

“Dead,” Liao mutters. You blink. Do you hear anger or excitement in that tone of voice? You wish you weren’t so drugged up. Liao seems to notice your sudden curiosity and puts a finger to her lips. “Oh, go back to sleep. This place isn’t the greatest so you’ll have to deal with the influx of shitty medical supplies, but I’d be glad you have anything at all.”

_ Someone  _ is cranky. “All right,” you murmur tiredly. “Hey, you know where Mei is? ‘M supposed to be...looking for her, I think.”

The doctor freezes. Right when you think to press further, the screams of an alarm passes over the room, throwing everything back into motion.

“ _ Shit! _ ” the doctor hisses, and tears off your blankets. You’re wearing regular hospital attire, but she doesn’t seem to care about your rather bland appearance before swiping through the needles and plugging you full of  _ another  _ antibiotic. Or something like that.

Liao pulls you up from the bed, and you feel energy returning to your limbs. “Nanoboost,” she says, sharply, into her intercom. “Pick her up, Sombra, and take care of her! Or  _ I’ll  _ kick your fucking ass to the moon and back!”

The intercom crackles on her lab coat, but you hear the response loud and clear. “Wh - fine, I’m coming! Liao, this  _ better  _ work!”

When your eyes clear, Sombra bursts through the door. You look around for signs of Liao, but the doctor seems long gone. The hacker’s eyes shimmer with uncontrolled delight and confusion at the same time. Her heart rate is also a little faster than normal - uh.

When were you able to see somebody’s heart rate, again…?

You’re dragged forward by Sombra’s hands, and you feel a rush of embarrassment flood your cheeks. It reminds you of a childhood spent chasing after Fareeha, watching the girl blossom under her mother’s tutelage and reaching far, far, ahead of her time...far away from you, at least. No matter how far she left, though, she was always just Fareeha, in the end. Someone struggling underneath the legacy of an Amari falcon.

But this pretty purple woman never knew you. And that only adds to your annoyance.

You snatch your hand away from hers, and she just seems to be realizing that she had grabbed it in the first place. Looking as unapologetic as ever, Sombra taps a few keys into one of the lockdown areas and the sealed latch hisses open in a wafting smulch of air.

You’d like some chocolate, yes, but going into Talon’s pantry was not what you were expecting.

“Um,” you say, and Sombra lifts a finger to your lips. 

“Not now,” she tells you, looking irritated, before closing the latch behind you. Now you two were well and surely alone, locked in a pantry together.

Not your ideal first date, honestly. Though you must admit she looks quite dashing in purple.

Sombra twists her hand in a clear gesture of dominance, and you feel your gut twist with each snap of her fingers. You bend without a second thought, and you are soon on your knees. Sombra is obviously pleased with your quiet obedience, no matter how much you want to struggle - you  _ know  _ they’ve done something to your body, taken away your free will.

Not even Reyes would do this to you. Not even Morrison, not McCree, not Captain Amari or Dr. Ziegler or Torbjörn.

Reinhardt is also certainly out of the question. You couldn’t even fault that man for killing you.

“Anything can be hacked,” Sombra says. She turns away from you. “I need your abilities and, above all, compliance. Can you give me that much?”

“Yes,” you say, without heart.

She smiles. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. We’ll get along just fine, won’t we.”

Sombra enters another code within some space in the pantry, and the wall before you crumbles away to reveal  _ another  _ hidden entrance. You feel like you’re starring in a surreal action-horror movie, considering the sheer amount of secret doorways Talon seems to have.

“Where did Liao go?”

Sombra shrugs as you two continue walking down the path. It is unusually dark, though Sombra helps light the way with the glowing palm of her hand. Additionally, it smells like horse shit. You vaguely recall a romantic moment sometime in your life that also smelled like poop a few years back before shaking the feeling.

“Probably to check on Reaper and Widowmaker. We’re a team. Supposedly.”

“Not anymore?” you venture.

Sombra nods once. “Well, not anymore. Our goals differ.”

You don’t need to ask why she left her little group. You are enough evidence to decipher her true intentions.  _ Is there anyone else joining us?  _ You want to ask.

“Hmm, not that I know of.” Sombra turns to you, eyes glinting. So she can apparently read your thoughts? What happened to  _ privacy? _

Another chuckle. “Only in close proximity. I’ll try not to delve too deep - I’m sure you’d be able to push me out without much trouble.”

This is too much to take in. Why is it always  _ you  _ in the end? Why couldn’t it have been, you don’t know, Fareeha? She was always the one with more backbone.

“So what’s the emergency?”

“There’s been a breach in security. Not my doing, for once, though I have a feeling it has to do with Overwatch. They’re after you in particular, because you’re the only person who’s been identified.”

“My face - ”

“Was never seen, yes, but you’re the only one they can go off of. Body shape, general age, ethnicity...in this day and age, anything can be discovered.”

“Then protect me.”

Both of you stop walking. Her feet jerk to a stop, and you follow soon after, the sound of pattering footsteps drawing to a close. “...Excuse me?”

You continue in earnest. “Scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. How much do you know about me, Sombra? How much do I know about you? You can fight for my subordination, or you can earn it. Certainly that isn’t too hard for someone of your caliber.”

“What does that entail?” she’s interested, you can tell. Her eyes are dilated and she’s stopped smiling that self-satisfied grin of hers.

“First,” you say, tapping your chest, “a name would be nice.”

Sombra laughs genuinely for the first time in your presence. It’s sweet, a light thing, and you find yourself wanting to hear it again. It’s music to your ears. “I could use your actual name.”

(That’s the thing. She doesn’t know it. You know she doesn’t, because only Liao did, and they erased it decades ago.)

(Sombra doesn’t need to know that. She would start asking why.)

“I know. But - ”

“It’s fine. We’ll think of something. Now, what else?”

You stand, a little dumbfounded. You thought she’d be less receptive than this. “Well, other than the facts surrounding our arrangement - especially whatever has been done to my body - there’s just two more things.”

Sombra finally resumes walking, and you trail after her. There are stars in her eyes, you realize, not from some artificial creation but real, live stars, of old dreams and flaming ambitions involving revolution and a hero complex all vigilantes hold dear in their hearts.

“I want to know who Liao is. I want to know where to find and contact a woman by the name of Mei-ling Zhou.”

“That’s not...much,” Sombra says, sounding somewhat surprised. She probably thought you would ask for money or glory or whatever. 

You’re just glad that you’ll find a nice patch of dirt to rest in soon. Death seems so enticing with all your friends dead, after all.

“Well?”

Sombra sighs, crossing her arms as she moves. You can see the exit a little ways ahead - it’s definitely midnight. “The name we can work on. The other two? A done deal. Now, we have to hurry...I’ve plans for you that involve more than just walking and resting, you know.”

By now, your feet should be aching. Sombra is clearly slightly fatigued from the endless miles of walking in the underground passage, but you are not. You feel nothing. If, at the end of your days, you could place flowers on Ana Amari’s grave and cry for her daughter and thank her as your mother, you will be happy.

The gentle, uneventful days are ending. Blackwatch, by another name, is rising in your footsteps. You know little of what the future holds, but you know you have one ally, now.

Oh, you know.

You  _ know _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unironically listened to a remix of Robbie Rotten's We Are Number One while writing this. It was great.
> 
> Sadly, I think it influenced the actual writing, which is why things are more confusing this time around. Thank you for reading!


End file.
